


FIFTH PEACE

by Queenoftheuniverse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crime Scenes, Hippies, M/M, Verbal Abuse, Violence, Whale deaths, eco protesting, gratuitous use of patchouli
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-09 08:37:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 19,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenoftheuniverse/pseuds/Queenoftheuniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson has fought in two wars. </p><p>One involved guns, hideous death, abuse of human rights and much bloodshed.</p><p>The other was Afghanistan.</p><p>Who knew Greenpeace was so violent?</p><p>Lucky for him, he meets Sherlock Holmes. Perhaps together they can put the Ghosts of Greenpeace to rest and make some sort of nest from this mess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. NEW FLATMATE

**Author's Note:**

> Just want to let you know, I have been in Greenpeace. This is MY PERSONAL VIEW of the organisation. Others may get more from it. Don't let my jaded opinion stop you from saving the planet! 
> 
> I recycle...promise.

FIFTH PEACE

CHAPTER ONE: New flatmate

 

 

Mrs Hudson answered the knock at front door to see a small, smiling man looking up at her with sweet blue eyes. His hair was long and blonde and wavy, he had on a lightly tie dyed T-shirt, hardy jacket and loose hemp trousers. On his back was a large canvas back pack. His boots were also canvas and well worn, but in one piece. Obviously tough with the amount of scuffing on them.

"Mister Watson, John Watson?" Mrs Hudson asked, eyes smiling. He was not what she had expected from his voice on the phone, but she hoped she may have finally found a flatmate for Him Upstairs. He looked harmless but strong. He would have to be a bit strong to deal with Sherlock.

"Yes, I'm John, and you're..." The man looked at the newsagents written description in his hands. "Mrs Hudson?"

"That's me dear, do come in, I have tea and scones in the kitchen."

"Oh thank you very much." John said, and slid his heavy backpack off to enable him to enter the small flat more easily.

"Sherlock dear, the next applicant is here!" Mrs Hudson called up the stairs.

"Another one?" Came a deep cry from upstairs. "I will be down directly."

"He's who I would flat with, if I was accepted?" John asked, sliding off his well-worn jacket and leaning his backpack against the yellow chair in Mrs Hudson's kitchen.

"Yes. Sherlock. He's a bit..." Mrs Hudson smiled again, proudly. "Sharp...."

"I see." John said. Then shrugged. He had dealt with "sharp" before. One didn't join Greenpeace without meeting 'sharp' people. And letting them do their thing of course. It was not difficult, and they seemed to like it.

"I'll get the tea dear, here comes Sherlock."

Footsteps sounded on the stairs in a quick staccato. Then the man from upstairs filled the doorway.

"Ah John, this is Sherlock."

The man called Sherlock was much taller than John. His hair was a tousled mess of inky curls and his skin was pale. He had on a white shirt and dark suit but no tie, and his eyes were cat-like and a colour John could not instantly name. Perhaps along the spectrum of green.

Sherlock put out his long thin hand and John shook it. It was surprisingly warm for a man who looked made of marble.

"Pleased to meet you Sherlock" John said and Sherlock nodded, looking John up and down in a very brash manner. John didn't mind. This must be what the man was like and John was up to any scrutiny. He either got the room or not. He would zen it.

"Sit boys sit."

Sherlock slid into a chair and John took the one his gear was leaning against. Mrs Hudson poured tea into the cups from a lovely tea pot and also put a plate of warm scones in front of them. John snaffled one quickly and began to eat it. It had been a while since he had eaten and one thing he had learned recently was when offered food you take it because who new when there would be more?

"Been travelling long, John?" Sherlock suddenly asked, face impassive, and voice a deep baritone.

"Three months." John said. "These are lovely Mrs Hudson."

"Oh shush with you now." Mrs Hudson said, and leaned against the kitchen bench, her own tea cradled in her hands.

"Would you like my seat?" John half stood but Mrs Hudson waved her hand dismissively.

"No John, you and Sherlock chat dear..."

"Why set down roots now?" Sherlock asked, tapping one long finger on his cup.

"Time to stop wandering." John said. "I need to just...stop for a while."

"Do you have work here in London?"

"Just got a few days at a local health food joint." John said. 

"And there's your army pension." Sherlock added.

John looked a tad uncomfortable. He shrugged. He didn't know how the lanky man knew of his service, he had tried to become the antithesis of an army man, dressed in cotton fibres, kind of slumped, hair to his shoulders, but maybe there was a residual army-ness about him he could not hide. He had been in the forces for a lot of years.

"War is stupid." John said. "But the invalid pension is handy. How did you-"

"Oh he is super observant is our Sherlock." Mrs Hudson smiled proudly and Sherlock's marble face cracked as he grinned at her.

"What do you do for a job?" John asked Sherlock. The man's preternatural eyes caught Johns again.

"Consulting Detective. Mostly forensics. Are you vegan?"

"Vegetarian." John said, taking another biscuit. "I like eggs. Couldn't give them up. So, forensics...dead bodies?"

"Murders." Sherlock said, and kept his alien eyes on Johns face. John munched the scone. He did not seem overly distressed. Of course, he had invaded Afghanistan. Not JUST him, but war, as he had said, was stupid and people got killed.

"Much money in murders?" Was all John asked.

"The ones I solve, yes." Sherlock said. 

"What are the ones you solve?"

"The ones I am given."

"What, all of them?"

"When The Yard is stumped, and that's quite often, they call me in. I solve it. They pay me."

"Nice. And thank you." John said earnestly.

"Thanks? For what?" Sherlock was genuinely confused.

"Giving the families closure." John said, sipping the tea. Sherlock thinned his eyes a bit. He didn't think he had ever been thanked like this before. Detective Inspector Lestrade often thanked him but in a per-functionary way. Johns thanks seemed genuine. "Everyone likes to know the end of the story." John went on, and smiled. 

Sherlock paused.

"How do you feel about the violin?" He asked.

"I love the violin." John said. "You play?"

Sherlock nodded. Then said:

"I sometimes don't speak for days, would that bother you?" 

"I sometimes don't speak for hours. I meditate, listen to the world. Silence does not scare me." John answered.

"Sherlock, are you actually offering John the room?" Mrs Hudson asked.

"Flat mates should know the worst about each other." Sherlock said to her.

"Oh meditating is hardly my worst habit." John laughed.

"And fingers in the crisper is hardly mine. When can you move in?" Sherlock asked. John nudged his pack.

"This is everything own so...right now."

"Good. Come upstairs and have a tour. Then a shower..." They stood and John lifted his pack.

"Oh yes! A shower would be wonderful!" John sighed, and bent to kiss Mrs Hudson on the cheek. "Thank you Mrs Hudson."

"Oh shush you!" Mrs Hudson blushed and the men left her kitchen to traipsed up the 17 stairs to Sherlocks flat.

~~

Later, when Mrs Hudson asked why Sherlock offered John the room, Sherlock said "He didn't seem judgemental."

This was a very great understatement indeed.


	2. LUXURY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John takes a shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not to imply hippies smell of course but he HAS been travelling....

CHAPTER TWO Luxury

John loved the room. He dumped his pack and stretched lithely, like a cat. He seemed very in tune with his own person and Sherlock was surprised. Most people were constantly checking around to see who was looking, were their hairs out of place, did they have something in their teeth...John just...WAS.

"This is a lovely space. So light and airy!" The man in question said happily.

"Shower's this way." Sherlock offered and John dug through his pack for clean pants and a shirt and hippy trousers that were half way clean. Sherlock tossed a towel to the man and he caught it stiffly with his left hand. Injured in the shoulder but it was still his dominant hand, Sherlock noted.

"Shot from behind." John said, still smiling. It was a bit unusual that someone would smile so much, but Sherlock found it didn't creep him out as much as he felt it should.

"Sniper?"

"Aye." John said. So, nautical term.

"You spent time on boats recently?"

"Aye, recently." John noted. "Don't need much on a boat, and it seemed natural to just travel after that."

"What sort of boat?"

"Fishing." John said. 

"But it was not used for that was it?"

"No. You're good."

"A vegetarian would not work on a ship that killed animals."

"It was a Greenpeace vessel. Converted from a fishing vessel. Captain Reese told us it was recovering its karma."

"Because you were protesting against overfishing?"

"Amongst other things." John nodded. "Shower?"

"Through that door. Come to the kitchen after and we can sort out our schedules, rent details and the like."

John nodded and started through the door. He paused.

"You have a washing machine?

"Yes."

"Luxury!"

Sherlock actually chuckled and went into the kitchen to put the kettle on.

 

#

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John smells purrrrrrrdyyyy....


	3. GETTING TO KNOW YOU

CHAPTER THREE Getting to know you

When John made it the kitchen later he smelled much better. Cleaner and...Sherlock sniffed.

"Patchouli?" He asked and John smiled. 

"It's relaxing and it smells good. No sprays into the atmosphere either. Saves the ozone layer."

Sherlock raised one eyebrow and slid a cup of tea over to John. John sat and sniffed it eagerly.

"No sugar, just how I like it, thank you."

"Sugar is a refined chemical. I assumed you would not take it."

"You assumed right." 

"What made you become so environmentally aware John? It is a very vast chasm between an army man and a man of the environment." Sherlock asked. This man was a fantastic puzzle to work out. Interesting juxtaposition.

"You can say hippy, I don't mind." John smiled, his blue eyes glinting in self depreciation. "I am trying to recover my carbon footprint. And believe me, my carbonny feet are all over Afghanistan. Here too. I was reckless with my world before I became aware of what was happening every day on the planet. I didn't recycle, ate meat, drove a motorbike. Now, I am conscious of everything I do and the effect it has on the world around me. I choose to be one with my planet as much as I can." John paused, then shrugged his non-injured shoulder. "Took me getting shot in the back to wake me up, but I consider it a blessing in disguise."

Sherlock nodded.

"Is that why you joined Greenpeace?"

John grinned. "Military Hippies" he said. "There's so many in Sea Shepherds and Greenpeace. The Army is the perfect gateway drug for environmentalism."

"Are you still an active activist?"

"No." John frowned. "Did my share of marches and protests and putting my well-being on the line. That way lies madness."

Sherlock studied Johns face. There was a story there for sure.

"So!" Sherlock said then. "Rent paid every week to Mrs Hudson, she owns the place. Do your own shopping and cooking, cleaning too. Common areas are sometimes used for my experiments but I will promise you at least one clear chair." 

"What sort of experiments?"

Sherlock waved his hand.

"Mostly on body parts, blood, that sort of thing." He said. 

"Oh...."

"The body parts are donated and very often someone's innocence hangs on one or another of them."

"We'll, God knows I am used to body parts." John snuffed.

"Saw a lot of deaths?"

"Yes. Far too many."

"And now you...?"

"Celebrate life. Construct rather than destruct. It's my way of...atoning I guess."

"For me it is solving puzzles. Keeps my mind active."

"You see more than other people."

"I AM a genius."

"Oh, I'm sorry. That must be hard."

Sherlock paused. Nobody had ever said that to him before. Mostly people were intimidated or sometimes jealous when they found out Sherlock was freakishly smart. But sympathy? Never.

"What makes you say that?" He asked.

"Well, our average minds are simple, we grasp very little and run with it. You must see.....vast networks of events and information and have to filter through all that merely to function. I guess it's lucky you can think fast but...does it not give you a headache, all that....stuff in your head?" John frowned, genuinely concerned.

"It is....both a blessing and a curse. The Work....guides me." Sherlock said. 

"TheWork?"

"Solving murders."

"What happens when nobody is murdered? I have heard it happens, even in a city as big as this one." John grinned teasingly.

Sherlock shook his head quickly. "Cold cases sometimes, weird thefts. There's always something. And if not...."

"If not....?" John asked.

"There is always something." Sherlock said. He was not prepared to open up too much to John yet, as John was not telling all to him either, and why should they? They had only just met.

"So, do you have a girlfriend?" John asked. Sherlock started.

"Girlfriend? No. Not my area."

"Oh. " John nodded, sipping. Realisation came to his eyes. "Oh! Gay, like me? Which is fine, by the way."

"I know it is." Sherlock said. He knew most people thought he was naive and sometimes assumed he was a virgin, maybe even asexual. He was none of these things, but considered it private. Sex was so unimportant to him he had not even cared to see that John was gay. He did, however, like to 'jack off' to blank his mind sometimes, help him sleep. 

"Family?" John asked then.

"Older brother in the Government, mother who is an artist is Wales, father dead. You?" Sherlock said quickly. Small talk was not his thing.

"Both parents dead, alcoholic older sister called Harry, short for Harriet." John said, then grinned. "I like talking with you."

"Oh?" Another first. Nobody had ever said that to him before. Most people told him to piss off.

"Yes. You don't waste words. I ask, you answer, no dancing. It's refreshing. I don't like....undertones."

"Ah, well, you are safe with me. I don't even HEAR undertones!" Sherlock scoffed.

They both laughed and suddenly, it became relaxed in the room. The tea was good, the day was warming up, and John was clean and settled. 

He was going to like it here very much.

From here, from Baker Street, great things would be accomplished.

#


	4. FIVER POINT ONE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We are introduced to Fiver, the dare-devil Eco terrorist.

CHAPTER FOUR Fiver.1

High above London, an almost-made skyscraper flapped and hunched in the night wind. It's upper floors were open to the elements, a store place for the interiors and floors that were to be placed in the months to come. 

Hanging from the side of the building by means of a rock climbing harness, was a fully black clad man. He was just putting the final touches on hanging a huge plastic banner he had spent weeks making. 

His code name was Fiver and he was an Ecco Terrorist.

#


	5. DARN HIPPY!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John reacts to Fivers' stunt.

CHAPTER FIVE Darn hippy!

The morning paper was flung across the front room of Baker Street. Sherlock looked up. In the week John had lived with him he had barely shown any emotion but happiness and mirth. This flash of anger was very unexpected.

"John?"

"That stupid Eco-Protestor has struck again! Jesus, he gives those of us who are personally pro-active a bad name!"

"Eco-protestor?"

"Aye. Fiver. Leaves gigantic plastic protest banners on things, never been caught, nobody knows who he is. But he's wily and he's fast and he...he...he's a god damned vigilante!"

"Are you...jealous?" Sherlock asked seriously.

"No. No, I am not." John assured his new friend. "He...makes the public hate environmentalists. He does more bad than good. Git!!!"

Sherlock set down his scalpel and leaned back in his chair to look at John. His cheeks were flushed and to an eye as practiced as Sherlocks it was definitely not just anger. It was excitement. Maybe fear mixed in. 

"John. I can see it. You are angry, yes, but also excited."

John turned in his chair to look at Sherlock. 

"Cannot hide anything from you can I?" He was back to grinning. " I really am angry. He really does give Ecco terrorists a bad name but oh...if I could trust my left arm to hold me...I would fucking find him and join him...in a heart beat!"

"Find him John?"

"Yes I know, ambitious, but I think you get the gist of my words."

"What did he do last night?"

John crossed to the downed newspaper he had got up early to walk and fetch. He showed Sherlock the front page.

FIVER ECO TERRORIST STRIKES AGAIN the headline read. Under it was a picture of a huge plastic banner flying over London.

"SAVE THE TREES, CUT DOWN ME'S"

"Oh that's awful." Sherlock said. "It's not even proper English."

"Pft, his first one was in Regents Park. He taped off a huge section of bare ground and flew a banner that said 'Get off your ass and save the grass.' Ass was spelled Ay Ess Ess, like the American spelling."

"So he's American?"

"Nobody knows. There are a lot of Americans in Greenpeace, which is the first place the police looked, but nobody was arrested. He seems to keep his protests to London though."

"Interesting...."

"Have you never heard of him?

"If I had I deleted it."

"Deleted it?"

"My head is like a computer. I delete things I deem not relevant to my life."

"Like mad protestors."

"It certainly seems so."

 

#


	6. BABY KILLER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes work and ideals clash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for closed minded opinions on armed forces.

CHAPTER SIX Baby Killer

John loved working at the Organic co-op health food shop. It was very open aired and friendly. Most of the people who worked there were as dedicated to the environment as he was. Some were very vegan, some were totally organic, and some were like him, vegetarian and quietly going about saving as much of the world as they, as one person, could do.

The owner of the shop, Melody, was a woman younger than John by five years, with blonde dreddies and colourful clothes. She was easy going but knew how to run a shop. Most of the money she made was sent to African children but not many people knew that. John only knew because he had the sort of face people trusted and Melody told him pretty soon into his first week. She and John had quite a good working relationship.

John was piling mandarins into the baskets at the front when Melody strolled over to chat.

"You see Fiver is back doing his thing?" She said to John. John tidied the fruit, nodding. His hemp shirt was untied at the throat and flopped around his buff upper body. Melody took time to look down it. John was pretty and she liked what he wore and the sweetness of his eyes. She had not made a move yet but she was certainly planning to.

"I saw." John nodded. 

"He's amazing." Melody went on.

"You think?" John asked. "You don't think he's a bit....showy?"

"Sometimes people need a smack in the face John." Melody said. "Most of the plebs in this city would not know what had to be cut down just to make the buildings they work in."

"And you think a dirty great day-glo plastic sign will lead to the enlightenment of all mankind?" John asked her.

Melody laughed.

"John, you're so funny!" She said, flirtatiously smacking his big buff biceps with the tips of one hand. "But yes, sure, why not? At least he's doing something."

"We are doing something Melody, just by taking responsibility for our own actions. Why should we shove our beliefs in other people's faces, like Fiver does?" John sighed, rolling the hemp sleeves of his shirt up over his beautiful forearms. Melody feasted on them even as she formed her rebuff.

"Some people are just ignorant. They need to know."

"They need to know that trees died for skyscrapers. Or do they need to be educated about recycling and water conservation?"

"Both John." Melody said. "I would shake Fivers hand and give him a free melon if he walked in here right now."

John smiled. 

"Yeah, well, most of my posturing comes totally from envy!" He said. Melody nodded, but truth told she was concerned at how...open John was. Envy is not an emotion most just....came out with like that.

"I was just saying to my flatmate how much I would like to join Fiver if my arm...worked properly, you know?" He circled his bung arm. Melody had not asked how he had come to injure his arm. She didn't know him that well yet. It was more a date conversation...once she had manoeuvred him into asking her on one!

"What did she say to that?" Melody asked then, playing with a dreddie.

"He." John corrected absently. "He said I would have to be crazy to climb up buildings just to make a quick point, and that I would probably kill myself."

Melody signed.

"But what a way to go, John." She said wistfully. 

John crinkled his nose cutely and Melody sighed inwardly.

"I have been in the front lines Melody. Fighting for the planet is neither glorious nor fun. It's hard, hot, hungry frustrating work. And if you get in with the wrong set of people it's hell."

"You are not...talking about GREENPEACE are you John?" Melody asked, shocked. She knew John had been a very active member but her ideals were not ready to be shattered. As far as she was concerned, Greenpeace were brave shining warriors on the side of good.

"Greenpeace is made up of humans, Melody, and humans are fallible." John said.

Melody opened her mouth to protest but was suddenly quite distracted by the streak of gorgeousness stalking across the road towards them. Tall, dark haired, in a suit of all things, even in the sun of this hot day.

"Hello hot stuff!" She said to herself, and was pleased to see him heading their way. Then, to her surprise, he called out:

"John!"

John straightened up, shielding his eyes from the sun with his good hand. 

"Sherlock. Hey. What are you doing here?"

"I need your help John."

"Sherlock, this is my boss Melody. Melody, my flatmate Sherlock."

"I am pleased to meet you. John talks about you all the time."

"I mentioned you once, don't get big headed." John winked at Sherlock, who ignored it all.

"I need you to look at a body with me." He barrelled on, barely looking Melody's way.

"Erm..." John said awkwardly.

"Lestrade txt me. It's a soldier. I need you to come with me."

"Ah, Sherlock, I am working. Who's Lestrade? And what does the deceased being a soldier have to do with me?" Johns face reddened, but Sherlock did not notice.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade of the Yard. He's who calls me in when he is stumped. Don't be obtuse John." Sherlock spat "And the body was a soldier in the desert war, newly returned. Anderson is convinced it was suicide so naturally I disagree, Anderson is an idiot, and with your history in the army I thought-"

Melody gasped.

"Army, John?" She asked in a horrified voice.

"Sherlock Jesus-" John moaned.

"Will you come?" Sherlock suddenly remembered he should ask politely.

"I cannot just leave my JOB Sherlock!" John snapped.

"WERE you in the armed forces John? Did you fight in this disgusting war?" Melody asked, eyes staring, horrified, at the man she was now seeing in a totally different light.

"I have a job to do Sherlock." John sighed. But Sherlock had turned his alien eyes to Melody.

"Yes, he was shot by a sniper in Afghanistan. He didn't tell you? Interesting...."

"You can leave John." Melody said in a quiet and shaky voice, folding her arms in on herself.

"What?" John asked, confused.

"You can leave. Don't come back. You're fired. I cannot have a baby killer working for me! Even being in Greenpeace does not come close to clearing your karma!"

"You're serious?" John asked, incredulously.

"I am. John....you should have told me....you...you should have told me..."

Melody turned and walked away, slumped shoulders shaking.

John watched her go, no sound from his open mouth. 

Sherlock watched Johns face go blank and braced himself. Too late he realised he had overstepped some invisible line. He had not meant to, he just needed Johns help. And John....all expression was gone from his face. No light in his eyes, no smile on his lips. He merely bent down behind the cash register, picked up his satchel, slid it diagonally over his body and turned to Sherlock.

"Show me the dead guy." He said. Sherlock stared and then nodded.

"This way...." He said, still braced for Johns anger. 

None came. 

#

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do NOT think any of our world's troops are baby killers.


	7. HANGING

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has a bit of a "thing" at a crime scene.

CHAPTER SEVEN Hanging

The dead man was in his attic in full uniform, hanging by harsh hemp rope from a rafter. John paused at the entrance to the room.

"Hello Freak." A dark skinned girl acknowledged Sherlock with a nod of her head. "Who's this?" She used her head to nod to John as well.

"John Watson. Friend." Sherlock said absently. John had been silent in the cab over from the shop. Sherlock was not sure why. Perhaps it was from losing a job he had only had three weeks? Maybe that was some sort of record? 

"Friend? How did you get a friend?" The woman sneered.

"The usual way, Donovan" 

"Did Lestrade let you bring your friend in?"

"Lestrade is not here yet."

The woman turned and put her hand out to John.

"Sergeant Sally Donovan." She said. John automatically shook her hand, staring at the stretched neck of the victim.

"Doctor John Watson." He said absently. It had been a few years since he had used his title. 

"Doctor?" Sally scanned John up and down. His genie pants and hemp shirt did not fit her preconceived ideas of what a Doctor should be. He looked more like a hobbit. That brown satchel was a dead giveaway!

"Ignore his clothes Sargent. He is a doctor." Sherlock called from over at the bodies side.

"Was a doctor. Now I am a fruit seller. Was.....a fruit seller..." John stammered, unable to keep the tremor from his voice. That body...hanging there like that...he blinked his eyes rapidly against the sting and fought the fluttering at the base of his tongue.

Sherlock was scrutinising the body closely, bending at the waist and getting his eyes up very close to parts that John was confused as to why he would want to get up close to.

"You don't want to be friends with The Freak." Donovan suddenly told John.

"Sorry?

"Sherlock Holmes. Your'e not his friend you know. He doesn't have friends."

"I'm his friend." John said, voice husky.

"You know why he does this? He gets off on it." Sally said.

"The bodies?"

"The bodies, the death. One day solving it won't be enough. One day we will all be standing around a body and Sherlock Holmes will be the one who put it there."

John was barely listening. All he could see was Sherlock getting closer and closer to that stretched and broken neck, lips and nose barely millimetres from the dead mottled skin.

Nausea roiled up in his stomach and he turned and ran back down the stairs. At the entrance to the house he crashed into a strong pair of arms with a breathtaking ouff!

"Steady sunshine!" Came a voice from somewhere in the dizzying murk that swelled up from the ground and suddenly swallowed him up in comforting darkness.

#


	8. DISHY DETECTIVE INSPECTOR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John comes to in Greg's arms.

CHAPTER EIGHT Dishy Detective inspector 

When John slowly came to he was aware of being cradled in someone's arms. Whoever it was smelled good, like whiskey and wool.

"His name is John. He's The Freak's friend. A Doctor, apparently." Sally was saying.

"John? My name is Greg Lestrade. I'm the DI at the yard and Sherlocks--friend."

Johns eyes opened and he stared into the brown eyes of a very handsome man,who was smiling kindly at him.

"Did I....faint?" John asked.

"You did." Greg smiled. "Crime scenes do that the first couple of times. Sherlock should not have brought you--"

"I am not squeamish." John protested. "I am used to violent death. It's just...his neck..."

"Oh, a hanging is he?" Greg looked up at Sally, who nodded. "Those are the worst. It looks so unnatural." He smiled at John who was struggling to sit up. Greg helped him and John moaned. His head hurt. His stomach coiled. He knew then his PTSD had not disappeared forever no matter how much he hoped it had. And after what had happened on the Greenpeace boat--

"John! John!" Sherlock called from the stairs as he clattered down them. He stopped short when he saw John cradled in Greg's arms. A frizzle of something bubbled in his chest and he did not like the feeling.

"Sherlock, sorry--" John said.

"Are you okay, are you hurt?"

"The DI stopped my fall." John said and was astonished when Sherlock gripped his arm and hauled him to his feet. 

"Steady on Sherlock, he's still dizzy!" Lestrade said, coming to his feet as well.

"I'm fine Sherlock." John said in a quiet voice, fingertips ghosting his own forehead.

"You look pale." Sherlock deduced.

"I feel okay. I just need to sit for a minute--"

"We'll go home, I have all I need from here now." Sherlock said. "I'll come down to the yard tomorrow. It can wait. It was not suicide, check his inside pocket, you'll find a ticket for the train, he was going to the coast tomorrow. Now John, lets get you home."

"Sherlock, for Gods sake!" Lestrade said, running a frustrated hand through his silver hair, making it tuft up. "Let him at least have a drink of water!"

"He has a bottle in his satchel." Sherlock snapped.

"Sherlock I can catch my own cab home if you need to stay--" John said weakly, but Sherlock was already bustling him away. He hailed a cab before John could even say goodbye to Lestrade and Donovan, all but threw the ex-doctor into it and jumped in beside him.

"Two two one bee Baker Street." Sherlock told the cab driver. John curled up against the door of the cab, admittedly grateful to be away from the house with its hanging occupant. His hand curled around the shape of the bottle in his satchel but he could not be arsed getting it out.

"What happened John?" Sherlock asked, his voice low. He didn't look at John, giving him just that tiny bit of privacy. "You said you had seen death before. What was it about this one that made you run?"

"Sherlock--" John sighed. "I am not....up to talking about it."

"I don't understand, John."

"I get that." John said. "But I just...cannot face talking about it right now."

"I'm..." Sherlock swallowed, tried again. "I'm sorry if...taking you there hurt you in any way and...I am sorry I cost you your job."

"Sherlock....if I had known Melody would call me a baby killer then I would never have applied for the job." John said. "I am....upset that she is so narrow minded. She thought I was good enough to employ and perv down my shirt but the second she finds out I fought in a war she doesn't agree with and I am suddenly some sort of disgusting, filthy pig who does not deserve her job or her kind words!"

"OI! Settle in the back!" The cabbie yelled and John realised he had been shouting. Sherlock was scrutinising him, those eyes on him, staring into his soul. John shivered.

"Stop, please." He whispered.

"Stop?"

"Don't--" John tried again. "Please stop looking at me."

"Of course John." Sherlock nodded, and turned to look at London whizzing by his window.

John closed his eyes and sighed. How he wished he had never ever signed up for the army. How he wished he had never gone to war. 

And oh how he wished he had never believed Captain Reese when he told the Ecco-Warriors they would make a difference in this world.

War, peace, it was all stupid.

And he was the stupid one for believing it.

#


	9. HENRY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has a bad dream. Sherlock actually helps him, quite a bit.

CHAPTER NINE Henry

John came back to himself suddenly. 

It was night and he knew he had been caught in a night terror. He was crouched on one knee next to his bed. One arm was along the mattress, his hand gripping the duvet tightly, afraid to let go. The knee up nearest his mouth was helping to shove his other fist into his mouth to stop the screaming. It had not worked, his throat was sore, his ears ringing with his residual screams of terror, his face wet with sweat and tears.

"John, are you awake now?" Came Sherlocks soft deep voice from the doorway. John shuddered, hair trembling in his face, and he refused to look up, refused to let go the duvet and his jaw refused to release his fist. He whimpered and the sound embarrassed him.

"Shall I come in, would that help?" 

John couldn't answer, fighting as he was with himself. 

Sherlock took it upon himself to come in. He rounded John swiftly and crouched in front of him. He was in his sleep attire and his robe swooped like a cape. He was close but not too close in order to make John feel comfortable, not threatened. John was shivering now but he managed to lift his eyes and meet Sherlocks concerned gaze.

"John...." The Consulting Detective said softly. John nodded and pulled his fist from his teeth. 

"Sorry...." He said hoarsely. "Thought I was over this."

"John, you were a soldier. It may take a while to adjust."

"I was a soldier two years ago Sherlock." John whispered. "I fought dirtier as a member of Greenpeace."

"What do you mean?"

John sighed softly. 

"The things I did in Afghanistan were nothing to the things I saw done fighting for peace." He said, sitting back on his bum and crossing his legs. He employed some meditation techniques to calm his breathing. Sherlock, too, sat cross legged in an unconscious mirroring of John.

"I thought Greenpeace laid in front of tractors and chained themselves to trees, singing." Sherlock said, deliberately being a bit facetious, lightening the heavy air.

"There's a lot of that." John smiled, running his shaking hand through his long blonde hair, causing it to wave in a pleasant way that made Sherlock twitch a smile. "But when you go on the ships...."

"I have seen footage of ships ramming whalers."

"Yes."

"That you?"

"No. We..." He shook his head, hair falling forward to hide his face. "...worse..."

Sherlock took in three deep breaths. He had a good imagination. What was worse?

"I am sorry John." He said, because he really was.

"I mean...." John swallowed. "We were supposed to be respecting this planet. Protecting it from greed and ignorance. Part of that, you would think, would be respect for life...." He looked up at Sherlock, eyes hidden beneath his fringe. "See, as part of the British Army I went in gung-ho to protect our British way of life. I blindly followed orders...."

John breathed in, then out, calming his heartbeat.

"Greenpeace was worse....we went in wide eyed, honestly wanting to save the planet...and all we did was make it worse...because humans are basically stupid Sherlock. Egos and testosterone and the need to be right overrides any real need to bring forth enlightenment...it's why I lead by example. Because when it comes down to it, groups trying to save the planet never will. Individuals will.....I just wish I could let more people know what goes on inside Greenpeace...." 

"I am very sorry your ideals were crushed like that John. I really am." Sherlock said. He understood people needed to find something to hold onto sometimes. He was aware on some level his Consulting Detective position was his form of the very same thing John was talking about. Because without it...well, he didn't like to remember those times.

John sighed. 

"Well...thanks Sherlock."

"I am also sorry about the misunderstanding today." Sherlock went on. 

"It's...nothing. Freaked me out a bit when you got so close to that body.." He shuddered. Then looked up at Sherlock, whites of eyes shining beneath his fringe with unshed tears. He rapidly changed the subject.

"So that was Lestrade today, who caught me in his manly arms as I damseled down the stairs?"

"Detective Inspector Lestrade, yes."

"Dishy..." John actually grinned

"If you like that sort of thing yes."

"Strong, capable, handsome and in charge...yes, I like that sort of thing." John went on. "Is he single?"

"He is heterosexual John."

"Can't win them all." John shrugged.

"John...."

"Sorry...been a long time between boyfriends. I am only teasing. I think I will have a camomile tea and try to sleep. I don't have a job to go to in the morning." John put up his hand to stop any apologies Sherlock was about to say. "I don't need the bad vibes from that place. If Melody cannot see me for who I am then it's bad karma to have worked there in the first place. I will find another job. But now...I need tea and a sleep."

"Okay John."

John creaked to his feet and stretched languidly. His t-shirt flipped up over his slightly furry tummy and Sherlock enjoyed the view.

"I will join you." He said before he had even thought. "And John, who is Henry?"

John went completely still. Sherlock thought perhaps time had frozen but then Johns shoulders slumped.

"I was calling his name wasn't I?"

"Yes. Quite loudly."

John nodded. 

"Later...." He dismissed the thoughts with a gesture and pulled open his bedroom door. Sherlock followed and they made their way to the kitchen.

#


	10. FIVER POINT TWO

CHAPTER TEN Fiver point two

"STAYING IN BED WONT GET AFRICA FED."

The huge day-glo plastic sign hung from a nursery that had been investigated for importing seeds from Africa that could have been used for sowing fields to feed starving people in Uganda.

It made the investigation get the attention it needed, but politics being what it was, nothing was done.

#


	11. ELEVEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Domestic routines and vegetarian food

CHAPTER ELEVEN Domestic

John got a job closer to Baker Street at an organic fruit shop that also sold gluten free and soy products. After the whole flash back and night terror it was nice to have job, mainly because with it came a settled day routine.

The man who ran the shop was called Kai and he was almost the same age as John. He had trained as a podiatrist but was now the owner of this one little shop just off a main road.

Kai was feral about animal rights so John figured, at some time he could mention Afghanistan and it would be better received than Melody. He did not risk it the first week though. Over dandelion tea the first day John casually mentioned Greenpeace and Kai was instantly hooked. He asked the usual questions, "what did you do, were you ever arrested, did you see any dead dolphins."...

At some stage Kai put on whale song across the shops stereo. John cringed and asked if he might not put such music on during his shift.

"Oh...John, why?" Kai asked. "Everyone finds whale song so meditative."

"I don't." John said. "I have heard whales screaming in pain and loss in real life, and that's all I hear when they sing now."

"Christ John!" Kai scrambled to put on some African drums. "You heard them screaming? For real?" He asked then. John nodded, pricing the organic nuts.

"It's the worst thing I have ever heard." He said. He didn't add that he had heard other frightful things, screams of pain and terror and loss torn from human throats. Humans suffering at humans hands were somewhat understandable on a weird cellular level. When humans hurt things that could not understand what was going on, and did not have any idea how to protect themselves, it seemed an horrendous violation. 

And memory of the screaming still brought goosebumps to his flesh.

At home, he and Sherlock pretty much had fallen into a strange and comfortable routine. John cooked his vegetarian meals and Sherlock sometimes ate them. He was fond of John not nagging him to eat as other flatmates and one certain Big Brother had done in the past and, quite childishly, ate more because of it. If he did not eat John would just recycle the scraps for a compost he started near Mrs Hudson's bins, do the dishes, and not once complain. When Sherlock asked him why he didn't make cutting remarks as others had done, John said:

"It's your choice not to eat, just as it is my choice to cook and clean. I personally enjoy the freedom to chose, and you have the same rights. How can I get angry at your choice, merely because it is not what I would do? You are your own person, governed in your own way."

Sherlock admired that. He admired that very much. He also admired the fact that John avoided eating meat but was ignoring the "human meat" in the 'fridge. Sherlock correctly assumed that, because humans were not FARMED more the farMERS, then the feet and spleens and thumbs in the Tupperware were ignorable. Not offensive to a vegetarian hippy at all. 

Sherlock also found that, while sleep still evaded him, he could relax more. Perhaps it was the incense John sometimes let drift from his room, maybe it was the occasional ethnic music CDs he played, perhaps it was a general air of non-conflict that made the flat a more pleasant place for relaxation. He certainly noticed that the more relaxed he was the easier it was to think. Why had he not realised this before? No matter, here it was. And sometimes....just sometimes, he actually went to bed and slept. Hours at a time. And when he woke there was tea and a happy face to greet him. Sometimes a rice dinner too.

All in all, Sherlock was happier than he had been in a long time. In perhaps forever, if he was honest with himself.

John was happy too, it had to be said. He was happy, comfortable and safe.

That did not stop a black car abducting the him off the street one night when he walked home from work.

#


	12. MYCROFT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The man in the warehouse.

CHAPTER TWELVE Mycroft

"What's the mileage on this?" John asked the dark clad woman in the back of the big black car. She looked up off her 'phone and stared at him.

"Loads." She said.

"I assume it is run on petrol not ethanol or electricity. You know that right now, this beast is pushing enough lead into the atmosphere to kill eighteen trout." He put out his hand. "John Watson."

"Anthea." She did not look up from her 'phone. John dropped his hand.

"That's not your real name."

She huffed a short laugh.

"No."

"Cars are quite ridiculous in the big cities. You can walk anywhere or buy a ticket in a bus." He put on a deep Hollywood-style tribal voice. "Those are big red things. Carry many people."

"I did not know that." Anthea said.

"Many people don't." John sighed.

John was not in any way worried. Zen put him in this car and he was honestly a bit thrilled to see where it took him. Also, he knew three types of martial arts, had combat training which, although loath to use he would bring out in a heart beat, and there were two lip balms in his satchel, one made of aloe and one that could render a man unconscious. 

Turns out his destination was a huge abandoned factory way out of the city. It was well lit by fluorescent lights and John could see, many meters away, a tall auburn-headed man in a three piece suit and black umbrella, standing quite casually next to a chair.

"Your boss?" John asked Anthea as she lent over him and opened the door. She merely raised an eyebrow at him.

He stepped out of the car and, under the bright halo of fluorescent lights, walked steadily towards the man.

"Do sit down Doctor Watson." The man said as he drew near.

"I think I would rather stand, but thank you anyway." John said. He filtered through his memories but he did not recall this man. Nose looked a bit familiar.

"It is nice to put a face to the name." The man said then, his voice very modulated and upper class.

"Well I am happy for you." John said. "Did you want something from me?"

"Information only."

"Ah. Where are the nipple clamps and truck battery?"

The man snorted.

"No, you misunderstand, I am merely asking you politely."

"I have a 'phone. You could have called me." John said. "On my 'phone. I'm listed."

"I prefer the personal touch when it comes to...matters such as these. Tell me, Doctor, what are your plans with Sherlock Holmes?"

"Well...I think retirement to a little cottage in Cornwall, sunflowers on the kitchen table, raise alpacas." John shrugged. He really liked alpacas. 

The man stared, quite frankly, the surprise on his face was comical. It was as if nobody had ever fucked with him before.

"Doctor Watson, I-"

"Just John." John said. "I am no longer a doctor. Seems like that is.... something you should know." John tried to make it sound as if it could be taken both ways, politeness or insult.

"John." The man nodded. "I have a proposition for you."

"No."

"I have not told you what it is yet."

"I have met men like you before. You want me to compromise my core beliefs and morals, very probably for money."

"For a great deal of money." The man amended, as if this would make a difference.

"Not interested." John insisted.

"I merely wish you to report on Sherlock's--" 

"As I said, not interested." John insisted.

"You are VERY loyal, VERY quickly."

"You seem surprised. Almost as if you have never met a man of integrity before. I wonder why that is?" John said levelly.

"Integrity John? Tell that to Captain Reese." The man said, and Johns eyebrows rose. "Tell that, perhaps, to Henry Knight's grieving family in Dartmoor who still have no idea where their son's body lies. Or rather, floats."

Johns face went blank. He knew it went blank. It was his reboot expression when he did not want any emotion displayed. 

"This is over." He said, did a military turn and began to march back to the car.

"I advise you to stop, Mister Watson."

"I am certain you have nothing to say which will interest me in any way."

"I only have Sherlock's health in mind."

"He's fine. I am sure you have the connections with your big car and your mysterious secretary to bug the flat and--" he stopped. Then he twirled on his foot again. "You are the brother in Government." He said. 

"Mycroft Holmes." The man nodded, impressed at Johns conclusions. "You must be aware that Sherlock is, in point of fact, a genius. He finds all my bugs. And cameras."

John shuddered. His conscience was clear but the thought of this...person...spying on Sherlock was creepy. Even for brothers. 

"Ever thought about taking him to coffee, talking to him?" John suggested.

"Since the great rehab incident at University he refuses to be in the same room with me for more than five minutes. You can imagine the Christmas dinners." Mycroft answered, tapping his umbrella.

John digested this. He was quick to realise it was not MYCROFT that had gone to rehab. This was interesting news but did not worry John. He had been on a boat with hippies after all and, while he did not partake, he knew many who did. Pot mostly, but some had harder stuff. Some believed that to be one with nature and the world they lived in they had to get royally shit faced. John failed to see how the two correlated. 

"Tell me, Mycroft. Are you a dangerous man?" John asked then, clenching his fists to stop them shaking, giving away the sudden cold wash of fury that had enveloped him.

"Do I look it?" Mycroft asked, raising one carefully groomed eyebrow.

"No." John said. "And in my experience, those who do not look dangerous are the most dangerous of all."

"Is that so?"

"That's so." John nodded, willing his fists to unclench. "So answer me this, Mycroft Holmes. Why would I let ANYONE dangerous ANYWHERE near Sherlock? I will take that car home now. Despite the fact it poisons fish and kills trees."

He turned and opened the door, sliding into the car. 

"Baker Street." He said to the dark lady inside. She looked over him, out the window, saw Mycroft nod. She tapped the divider between the back seat and the front. The car moved off and the lady sat back.

"Who ARE you John Watson?" She asked and her voice was tinged with admiration.

#


	13. BROTHER

CHAPTER THIRTEEN Brother

"Met your brother tonight."

"Did he offer you money to spy on me?"

"Yes."

"What was your answer?"

"I said no."

"That does not surprise me John."

"Money makes people do thoughtless things."

"Yes. I rather think it does."

#


	14. FIVER POINT THREE

CHAPTER FOURTEEN Fiver point three

Later that night, from a bridge across the Thames, a huge day-glo sign snapped in a quite brush wind.

POLITICIANS FED, BABIES DEAD.


	15. BIODEGRADABLE PLASTIC

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock offers to help John find Fiver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't realise I had two tiny chapters in a row! Here, have a longer one...

CHAPTER FIFTEEN Biodegradable plastic

"ECO TERRORIST SUGGESTS POLITICIANS EAT BABIES!"

"Well, the press have totally missed the point on this latest sign yeah?" John snorted from over on the lounge room floor, paper in his lap. "Does Mycroft eat babies?"

"No. He eats cake. Quite a bit of it as I recall." Sherlock answered.

There was silence as John ruminated.

"He would have to have access to enormous sheets of plastic." John hummed. Sherlock assumed, correctly, that it was not Mycroft that John was talking about. 

John sat cross legged on a very soft mat made from alpaca hairs. He had loomed it himself at the commune where the off duty Greenpeace members had lived. It was one of the many reasons he loved the little animals. Fur as soft as fluff and not spiky like camel or moose. Not to mention loyal as a dog and relaxing as a cat.

"John, is that your subtle way of asking me to investigate Fiver?" Sherlock asked, looking over from his text book on plant poisons.

"Sherlock, when have I ever intimated anything. If I wanted you to investigate I would have said something the line of 'hey, could you look into the Eco terrorist for me?' Have I said that?"

"No."

"Then I don't want you to."

"Forgive me. I forget how present you are."

"You will get used to it I am sure." John smiled. "It just takes more exposure. I know I am not the norm."

"Far from it John." Sherlock nodded. "It's refreshing. And yes, enormous sheets of plastic."

"I wonder if it is biodegradable? I mean I can assume it is, if he really is an environmentalist and not just a thrill seeker, but if that is so...he would have to be very rich or very clever."

"There is only one factory that makes biodegradable plastic. It is in Swinbourne Bay." Sherlock said offhand. John knew this sort of knowledge was packed into that super brain and so was not surprised it just popped out of the detectives mouth like that.

John nodded.

"Sherlock...."

"Yes John?"

"Wanna come to Swinbourne Bay with me, look into Fiver?"

Sherlock smiled.

"Yes." He said. Now he knew this Fiver was quite a conundrum and, out of respect for John, Sherlock's interest was peaked. A puzzle was as good as a triple murder in a locked room.

"When?" John asked then, folding up the paper and flexing his spine. Sherlock pretended not to look at the way Johns hemp shirt stretched over his buff upper body.

"I do believe this weekend I am free." He said, voice steady.

John smiled.

"Perfect. So am I."

There came the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

"Ah. Lestrade is here. Perhaps he has..." Sherlock paused. No, those steps were not even. Greg most definitely did not have a case for him tonight...

 

#


	16. HIS ONLY FRIENDS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg comes over, letches all over John, then Bond happens.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN His only friends 

Lestrade knocked on the open door and came in.

"Hoy hoy" he said. "You blokes busy?"

"Night off, Inspector?" Sherlock commented.

"Yes, damn you Sherlock, it is" Lestrade smiled.

"Had a few mate?" John asked stretching languidly again and flowing to his feet, lithe as a cat. He smiled at Greg, putting out his hand. Greg took it and shook it. John could smell a slightly hoppy smell that came with beer. Quite a few beers.

"Ah, John! You look better upright." Greg said and John laughed heartily. Sherlock huffed.

"Divorce came through?" He said. 

"Yep. I am a Freebird." Greg said, and laughed. 

"Oh I love that song." John said, and Sherlock was suddenly lost.

"Yeah? I can play it. On guitar." Greg said, smiling his straight teethed sparkle eyed smile which Sherlock knew was just for sexual conquests. 

"Not tonight you couldn't Lestrade. No hand-eye coordination." He said, hoping to undermine him a little in Johns eyes. Just in case. Because Sherlock knew Greg had, before marriage, batted for both teams, to use the vernacular. He was not a staunch heterosexual...

"Come for a drink with me you two!" Greg shouted then. "Celebrate!"

"I think you have celebrated enough." Was John's comment. He remembered when a night out meant drinking, getting into trouble, hot alley sex with a stranger, vomiting and blacking out. He recalled when that had been enough. He also recalled it was better now he wanted more from his life. "Take your mac off, sit with us. I'll make tea."

Greg struggled with his mac and John helped him. Greg suddenly lent forward and kissed John. On the mouth. Languidly. And John responded by kissing him back, eyes fluttering closed despite the suddenness. Sherlocks brain went "geh" and stopped working. Too many emotions flowed up his cortex to be sorted individually. Shock. Anger. Surprise and worse...sexual thrill that coiled in his belly, watching those two men kiss as if nobody was looking.

John gently pulled away and laid his hand on Greg's upper chest.

"Thank you, but not what you need tonight Greg." He whispered, and Greg showed how he disagreed by trying to kiss John again. John was an excellent kisser....the DI knew he would be. And he wanted...wanted...to be loved and touched.

"Greg...no." John insisted, throwing the mac across a chair and steering the inebriated Detective to the couch. 

"Sit. Tea." John insisted, pointing at Greg. Greg nodded, rubbing his face with shaky hands. He sat as John about-faced and went into the kitchen. Sherlock followed him with his eyes.

"John..." He said, voice husky.

"He needs companionship Sherlock. I know to you he is just a means to an end. But he is also a human and he needs...." John put the kettle on, got down cups. "He needs us." Was all he said. 

Sherlock looked back at Greg, trying to see what John saw. And suddenly, it was as obvious as the nose on his face. Greg was grieving the loss of his marriage. He had tried to drown his feelings with beer. And now, he came here, of all places. Didn't he have friends? Oh....Sherlock swallowed. Oh, how sad. Sherlock was his only friend, and a poor one at that. 

"John..." Sherlock said, then coughed around the lump in his throat. "John....get him some hob nobs too. And James Bond I think tonight."

John smiled at Sherlock, like a sun, directed straight at him.

"Agreed." He said, and Sherlock felt...proud. Proud of himself. For having....feelings. Of all things to be proud of himself for. A simple feeling.

He crossed the room and sat on the couch next to Greg.

"Budge up Greg. It's appalling spy movie night and you are invited." 

#


	17. THE MORNING AFTER

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN The morning after

The morning dawned horribly for Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade. Too bright, too nauseating and not his own couch.

John Watson, dressed for work and already wearing his satchel, was coming at him armed with two bottles. He rubbed lavender oil into Greg's temples and citrus oil into his wrists.

"Lavender to relax your head, citrus to make the day worth facing." John explained. "Also, there's a cup of tea on the coffee table, some water and some aspirin. I am off to work. Stay here until you feel better."

"Thank you John."

"Have a good day. Thanks for watching Bond with us last night."

"Did I? I love Bond." Lestrade said wistfully.

"Course you do, he's dishy. See you later!" John laughed, and ran down the stairs, all enthusiastic for the day as he usually was. Bloody hippy.

Greg managed the water and pills and was just sipping the tea when Sherlock entered the living room in just his sleep trousers, t-shirt and robe. He sniffed, and grinned. John had been tending their poorly friend with hippy oils.

"Good morning Detective Inspector." He smiled, actually smiled at the poorly man on the couch. It was a side of Sherlock that Greg had never seen, and it was...nice. Not as appalling as he suspected it may have been.

"Morning. Thanks for letting me stay."

"John was not going to let you poison yourself with any more alcohol." Sherlock said, swirling the kettle and finding it full enough to reboil. "He merely wished to poison you with ghastly Daniel Craig instead."

"It was nice." Was all Greg said. It was strange sitting here with Sherlock in a domestic setting rather than a formal setting like at work or a fraught setting as in a crime scene. Especially when Sherlock sat in Johns chair with a tea and...chatted to him. Like a...like he was....like they were both normal!

"I am sorry you divorced." Sherlock said. "I am lead to understand that a marriage ending in such a way is much like a death."

"A bit, yeah." Greg agreed.

"I know a bit about death." Sherlock said. 

"I recall." Greg said. He had scraped Sherlock off the ground in a coke house when the body of a young girl who had OD'd had been found. Sherlock had known her, and many like her, in his hazy drug years. Death had been his constant companion, as it was now too, but then it had been people he knew, even for the three hours they were high together, or the side by side companionship of the destitute. He knew the vast difference of feeling one had for a mere body as a posed to a consciousness snuffed.

"John explained to me also that you still love her." Sherlock went on. "And for that not to be reciprocated I am truly sorry."

"John is wise." Was all Greg said.

"And, I understand, a good kisser." Sherlock dropped this comment casually.

"Uh...." Was all Greg could say. What a strange thing for Sherlock to--oh! Greg blushed.

"Christ..." He swore. 

"Yes, you did." Sherlock said, and Greg was surprised to see Sherlock grinning into his tea.

"Bloody hell!" Greg said, and suddenly the two were laughing like idiots. It was sudden. It was weird. It was right, sitting in the Baker Street flat laughing like a human with Sherlock Holmes.

"If it is any consolation, John did mention that your tongue action was satisfactory."

"Oh God stop!" Greg choked, and Sherlock barked out a huge laugh again at Greg's mortified face. And Greg suddenly realised two things. He was being teased by Sherlock Holmes and...

"Oh God Sherlock....you LIKE him!" 

"Don't be absurd Lestrade when have I ever needed anyone?" Sherlock scoffed. Sure, John was comfortable to be around, with no pretences, heart on his sleeve, all honest and balanced and accepting and non judgemental and so cute in all those natural fibres and earthy smells, sweet eyes and pretty mouth...but Sherlock was NOT in like with John fucking Watson..... 

"I am not as good as you Sherlock, but I AM a detective. A very good one. They would hardly have promoted an idiot to New Scotland Yard." Greg said. "Does he know?"

Sherlock put his empty tea cup down. He paused, and then he slumped.

"No." He admitted. "No, he does not."

"I'm sorry Sherlock. It must be hard." Greg said in sympathy. He suspected for Sherlock, maintaining relationships would be nearly impossible. He was socially inept, a tiny bit autistic, and....Greg knew Sherlock was hardly a fainting virgin but hard core drugged up sex was a way different thing to an everyday companionship filled with bin nights, grocery shopping and the host of other mundane trivialities one engaged in merely to keep a halfway descent functioning companionship going.

"John is...." Sherlock searched for the right thing to express himself. "John is...here. And that is enough."

"For now?"

"For now."

"If you say so."

"I do. More tea, Detective Inspector, or do you need to pick up your dog from the kennels?"

"You....are a fucking genius." Greg smiled, shaking his head, admiration shining from his face.

"Merely putting facts together. Your wife is off to greener pastures. If she did not want the responsibilities associated with keeping your marriage together, she would hardly want the encumbrance of a small fluffy dog, white one judging by the hairs I have seen on the bottom of your trousers."

Greg was sure that he heard a note of derision in Sherlocks tone. Unusual really, Sherlock usually merely spouted facts at him. Then Sherlock did another amazing thing. He turned his eyes to Greg and they were soft and appreciative.

"Your dog is lucky to have you Greg. It is good that ONE of you is taking on the responsibility for raising him."

Greg could say nothing over the lump that had formed on his throat at yet strangely, approval from Sherlock Holmes made him feel as if everything was going to be alright.

#


	18. BABY KILLER POINT TWO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another sanctimonious do-gooder upsets our John.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Baby Killer point two

"John, I met a friend of mine at an anti-whaling meeting last night." Kai said. John nodded, paused in sweeping the wooden floor of the shop. 

"Her name is Melody. She says you worked for her."

"Oh. Yes." John said, straightening. He smiled. Whatever was coming next was just, he assured himself, Zen. Simply Zen.

"She also said you were a soldier." 

"I was." John said.

"In Afghanistan." Kai added.

"For a time." John said. He was also an Eco soldier too but John suspected Kai was not interested in that particular combat story. 

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"It's not something you need to know to employ me is it?"

"No. But to NOT employ you it is!" Kai's voice got a bit forceful. Imagine if others knew he employed a soldier? He would be barred from the meetings perhaps, and then how could he be seen as a man who cared for nature and the world he lived in?

"Another reason I chose not tell you." John said.

"How can you...how can you work for me here, in this shop, knowing you took part in that...in that heinous..." Kai spat.

"Take a deep breath, you are turning red." John said, then asked pleasantly: "Are you angry with me?"

"I am...I am FURIOUS!" Kai told him. John shifted his eyes and pinned Kai with them.

"Why?"

"You...LIED TO ME!!!" Was all Kai could say.

"If you mean a lie of omission then yes. Although I don't recall you asking me if I was ever in the army. You asked about my protest history and I told you. What you did NOT ask me was did I serve time in Afghanistan."

"I didn't think I would have to! I assumed you knew that participating in the war was ecologically and socially unsound!"

"Been there, have you?" John asked, his tone still calm. He had met enough puffed up self important pseudo hippies in his time to go straight to the chaff-separating questions.

"What! NO!" Kai spat, insulted.

Johns hands tightened around the broom handle, knuckles turning white.

"Are you going to call me a baby killer too, Kai." He asked. "To my FACE?." The word 'face' was spat out much more angrily than John had meant to.

Kai paused, angry and nervous at the same time. John looked a bit...less than calm. 

"Have you ever in your life actually put your body on the line for your beliefs, Kai?" John went on, turning his body to face Kai fully. Kai did not like the look in John's normally peaceful happy eyes. He began to think perhaps he had stepped where he should not. He was not bout to admit that though. John was a...yes, he thought it. John was a baby killer!

"I have been on marches." Kai told him, a little haughtily. He'd done his bit. Many times.

"Nice, safe, British marches with banners and a crowd. You march on a building, say your piece, and go for a lovely fry up at a local pub."

"It gets our message across." Kai sniffed.

"Your message, Kai?" John asked, incredulously. "Down with this sort of thing!" He added in a very high pitched pantomime of an upper crust voice. 

"Someone needs to stand--"

"Take a STAND Kai?" John choked, aware that tears were now springing to his eyes. He was frustrated and disappointed that once again, he met an attention seeking LOOK-AT-ME who would no more put himself on the line for a cause than break a nail making a meal. 

"Take a fucking stand!? Tell me, Kai the Eco protector, you are in the Antarctic sea in a leaky ex-fishing boat, it is fifteen below and the sea spray is freezing everything where it lands including the very air you breathe. You have two state-of-the art Russian whalers circling your boat, sharpshooters using LIVE ammunition to keep you and the rest of your crew, your friends, your colleagues, to keep your heads down unless you want your brains to decorate the deck. You can see live whales struggling on the ramps, screaming in pain, blood flowing like a river back into the ocean and you can not do anything to save them, nor the baby whales moaning for their mothers." John paused for breath. 

"And you think a fucking sign saying 'STOP!!!' will work? No, you stupid cocky bastard. The only thing that will work is a fucking missile! That's the REAL WAR!"

"That does not happen--" Kai choked in shock.

"No, not to YOU! Not to you and your ilk! You are self obsessed and your type ruined everything we were trying to make ideal!"

John slammed the broom down on the ground with a satisfying SMACK!

"Don't bother firing me. I quit. Donate my pay to the charity of your choice. Stop the roundabout on the high street, save one fucking tree in the park you...sanctimonious prick!"

John grabbed his satchel and once again, put in on and walked away from a good job. Kai was speechless. There was nothing he could say. Deep within himself he felt awful, but on the surface he knew he was right to fire a soldier. And to Kai, his surface was everything.

But he was angry. He was angry that John had found his shortcomings and called him on them. And so, despite his overinflated sense of self preservation. 

He screamed "BABY KILLER!!!!!" At Johns retreating back. John paused and Kai's bladder twanged.

But John merely walked on, secure in his own self knowledge.

#

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think saving a single tree in a park IS important, but John was just making a point! okay!!?? SAVE THE TREE!!!


	19. WARM WATER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John self sooths. Not in a pervy way.

CHAPTER NINETEEN Warm water

When John got back to the flat it was silent. Evidence that Lestrade had medicated himself was obvious by the lack of pills, the empty glass and two washed cups on the draining board. John only hoped that Sherlock had been civil.

Sighing, glad for the silence, John slipped his satchel to the ground, removed his boots and padded to the bathroom in his socks. He felt the need to wash the stink of hypocrisy from his skin. 

The shower was wonderful, deeply hot and massaged his main angry thoughts away. He did not like loosing control like that, especially to someone like Kai who would never understand what it meant to be present for a cause you truly believed in. He braced his arms on the tile and let the spray roll over his head. 

And then he let the tears come.

It was all very well knowing he was NOT a baby killer, knowing that he chose to fight in the war without fully understanding what the consequences of that would be. But he could not help feeling sorry for the path his life took, despite what lessons he learned along the way. And how, again, people he thought would want the best for this planet were again the ones who let him down, tried to make him less than the human he was, as if he had no rights according to their weird set of rules.

He abruptly snapped the taps off, stepped out and dried himself vigorously. He put on a pair of dark blue silk Chinese lounging trousers and matching shirt with high collar and Chinese knot buttons. He slipped his feet into flat black hemp Kung-fu shoes and strolled down to the kitchen to make a camomile tea. He would have a light salad too. Think about what he was going to do to pay the rent. Try to calm the fuck down. Rid the bad vibes from him.

Once he was curled up on his papasan, forking mouthfuls of salad into himself, tea steeping on the coffee table beside him, he felt better. He closed his eyes and ate by feel, mentally calming his frazzled nerves until he felt almost centred.

And then Sherlock exploded home like mini tornado and changed the whole direction of his life.

#


	20. DYNAMIC DUO: THE BEGINNING (no capes!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With John jobless again, Sherlock makes an offer. (Not a pervy one).

CHAPTER TWENTY Dynamic Duo: The beginning (no capes!)

"John! Are you home? I need your help!"

"Yes, here Sherlock." John said quietly, opening his eyes to see Sherlock stride into the room, coat and scarf flying.

Sherlock looked John up and down and sighed.

"Lost another job John?" He asked. John nodded. He did not feel like saying anything. Sherlock looked once again, up and down John. And then, he didn't say anything either.

"You said you need my help?" John finally broke the silence. He was calm within himself now, employing meditation techniques as he did. He was ready to face whatever new thing came his way. And if it was in the form of whatever Sherlock needed him for then that was fine.

"Yes. Another ex army man turned environmentalist death." Sherlock said.

"Another?" John asked. "What do you mean another?"

"This is the forth, including the hanged man you saw with me."

"The hanging guy was in Greenpeace?"

"Apparently so."

"Wait...an army man--"

"Ex." Sherlock corrected.

"Ex army man. And now eco-protestor...."

"Yes. You did say that the various protestor groups were a haven for ex army. You yourself fit that bill. I believe you called the army a 'Gateway drug' for Greenpeace."

John nodded, blue eyes far away.

"Doesn't matter the fight, we like the battle." John said, a little smile on his face. Sherlock look confused so John added "Sarcasm" to help him along. Sherlock nodded, at once understanding.

"So, you will accompany me? Your insight could be invaluable." The detective said then.

"Is he...is he..you know, hanging...?" John asked nervously.

"Ah, no. This one was pills." Sherlock said. "The other two after the hanging were alternatively knife and another hanging."

"So it could be an ordinary suicide, if you can ever call suicide that."

"Not ordinary in the sense of this pattern, no."

"Why?"

"This one left a note."

#


	21. FIGHTING BADGER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is suddenly very aware that he may possibly be a lynchpin. Or lunch pun as they say in New Zealand.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE Fighting Badger

"When you said he left a note I had paper and pen in mind." John whispered, as he crouched by the face-down body in the council flat lounge room. He slid his satchel to settle on his back to enable him to balance on the balls of his feet.

"Never assume John." Sherlock said, using a gloved finger to feel under the mans army jacket. The note, in this case, was written in the mans own blood which had bubbled from his dying throat. It was smeared into the carpet. Quite clearly it said SNF and then a crude drawing that John could not make out. 

"Left handed." John said, and Sherlock nodded. 

"Any ideas Sherlock?" Called Lestrade from the door. John had been pleased to see the DI much happier than he had last seen him. Sherlock, too, seemed nicer to the man and John made a note of this. 

"Seven." Sherlock answered the DI, then cocked his head. "Five." He amended.

"The uniform is generic." John said. The trousers and jacket were merely khaki, all insignia removed, leaving tell tale traces of darker material and loose threads. "And, unless he lost an alarming amount of weight recently, this jacket is at least three sizes too big."

"So, costumed afterwards." Sherlock said. "SNF....SNF...what was he trying to tell us..." He mumbled then. John shuffled around and cocked his head at the blood red note. Suddenly, he gripped Sherlocks forearm. Sherlock whipped his head around and saw John's face pale.

"John?"

"That's a five." He said.

"Sorry?"

"It's not SFN it's 5NF. Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. And that, right there, is a fighting badger. He's an ex Fusilier.." John stopped. He went cold. He suddenly realised something terrible.

"Lestarde, who's flat is this?" Sherlock looked up and asked.

"Belongs to..." Greg flipped through his notes. "A man called Bill Murray. That's him. We fingerprinted him first thing."

John breathed in a wobbly breath

"You know him?" Sherlock asked.

"Knew him. In Afghanistan. Heard he was returned him after his third tour, a year after I came home. Must have joined Greenpeace after that." John said, voice bland, totally faking that he was fine, it was all fine...

Sherlock nodded.

"So, ex army, murdered like the others...What is the connection? This is too thin..." Sherlock surged to his feet and began to pace, mumbling.

John followed to his feet, slower, staring down at the back of the head of his old friend Bill. 

Hair longer, like his, must have not wanted the military cut any more than he had. Incense, crystals, protest posters in the room, and a Tibetan Om Madi Pab Mahaum over the window where it could flap and send prayers to heaven. 

Bill was...had been..the same as John. Tired of destructing, needing to construct. Making the world a better place. Was this anything to do with his death, and if so, was John in danger? Was the murderer known to John? John flicked through all the people he had met since the army but he could think of nobody...unless...

He clamped his lips shut. This is something he would tell Sherlock in private. Because if so then somehow all these deaths may have well been partly Johns fault.

#


	22. FIVER POINT THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO Fiver point three

On the back of a coal ship, bright in the early morning sun:

SOLD YOUR SOUL, BLACK AS COAL

#


	23. GREEN NON PEACE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John tells Sherlock aboot Henry.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE Green non Peace

Sherlock admired how comfortable John looked, sitting as he did in the middle of his own bed. Usually, Sherlock noted, John would sit cross legged but now, he had pulled his bare feet right up to his crotch, foot sole to sole, knees down on the mattress. He was meditating, readying himself to tell Sherlock "Something that may be of great importance to this case."

So Sherlock sat in the chair next to John's bed, arms draped like a scarf over the back of it. He had actually suspected for quite some time that John had some potential input but was not entirely sure. He would hear what John had to say before coming to any conclusions.

At the very least, John needed someone to talk to. Obviously.

John finally rolled his head and opened his eyes.

"I am pretty sure this is all about Henry." He finally said.

Sherlocks eyebrows rose. "The name you screamed in your nightmare."

John nodded, swallowing, attempting to calm his rapid heartbeat. The last thing he wanted to do was recall this. 

"I met Henry on the ship, the 'Isaac Newton'. He was bright and earnest, from Dartmoor, you know? Nice farm kid, orphan, rich." John started. "We were bunk mates. He'd been on the ship a while, started protesting in his teens you know? His parents would not let him do much more than recycle and march every now and then, but when they died he sold everything and invested it in Greenpeace."

"Was that the norm? Selling up and setting sail?" Sherlock asked.

"For some of us I guess." John shrugged. "Henry's partner was not impressed."

"Go on."

"So the leader of this chapter of Greenpeace was a Captain Reese . He was nice to Henry, probably because of the money, but he was a likeable kid. He certainly took ME under his wing. We took our place as a pair in the work crew, swabbing the deck, or KP, boat repair. We had drills too, for ship emergencies and whale saving. It was a well run ship."

John rubbed the back of his neck before continuing.

"We would be on the ship two weeks, in the commune one week, back to the boat two weeks. The first few months were uneventful. Just one oil ship which we tried to stop coming into harbour. It was not until whale hunting season that we started to see exactly what was going on in Greenpeace."

John swallowed. Sherlock remained silent, leaning forward just a bit.

"We came upon two Russian whalers. Lots of people don't know that Russia still hunts whales, more than Japan. We did our usual bullhorn thing..." 

Here John deepened his voice and mimed talking through a bullhorn:

"Stop all this, whaling in bad and you are bad!"

John dropped his hands.

"Yeah, they ignored us. They already had a haul on board and...there were baby whales milling, calling for their mothers and...Christ, it was awful...." John shook his head, looking away at nothing, before turning back and continuing.

"Captain Reese ordered five us to volunteer to get into a rubber ducky, get close to the action. I volunteered and so did Henry and some others. I don't remember who. Not the Captain of course..."

Here John paused again, sorting his thoughts.

"It was freezing. We were well rugged up and had on bright life preservers but...I remember Henry and I with chattering teeth and his lips were blue. It didn't help that the Russians were fire hosing us. Henry smiled at me though, said 'Warm enough Johnno?' In that accent of his, smiling...I just shook my head. He was always so happy to be so pro-active."

Here John smiled. It was nice thinking about Henry sometimes.

"Then Reese rammed one of the ships. It was not usual to do that with a ducky in the water, and real dangerous. We were close to the hulls of all three ships. So close that when some of the Russian whalers that were hosing us off fell into the sea, and one crashed right onto Henry's back. They both fell into the ocean...."

John paused. His voice got softer.

"I recall yelling and yelling for him, telling the boat driver to turn us back, circle around to find him. It was a relief to see him finally bob to the surface but the Russian had his hand round his throat, was trying to drown him."

John swallowed.

"We had helmet coms, us on the ducky. I heard Captain Reese say....he told me....to take aim and fire."

"You were armed?" Sherlock asked in a soft voice. John merely nodded.

"So I did. I shot the Russian guy through the head. His fingers floated off Henry's throat and he was free for us to drag back. I think I must have gone into shock. All I remember is my hearing going and seeing all that blood. Whale blood, human blood. Water. Whales breaching. Hoses and spray and..." John shuddered.

"I looked after Henry when we got on board but he would hardly look at me. He asked me when had life become so cheap and I couldn't answer him. I had no answer....I tried saying 'it was you or him' but Henry just...he blanked."

John paused, remembering.

"He was never right after that. None of us were. We could not quite grasp what had happened and when Reese gathered us all in the mess and...well, I figured he was going to say it was awful, and for us to let the Russians know what had happened. I figured I was going to be arrested, maybe by Russians, but no..."

John looked up into Sherlocks eyes and what Sherlock saw was grief, pure and simple. 

"Reese did a speech that reminded me of Hitler in Brandenburg...just....fanatical. I was frightened to tell you the truth. Not about being arrested, never that, but...everyone was listening to every word this guy was spouting, and some were nodding and making noises...Henry left some time through it but I stayed to the end. I wish to God I had gone with him.."

Johns voice got rough.

"When I went back to our bunk Henry was hanging from the wardrobe rail. He'd killed himself. He was just...blue. I tried CPR but it was way too late. His neck was broken...."

John choked on his own spit then, too upset to continue.

Sherlock found himself moving towards John on impulse, his hands reaching for the trembling man crying softly on his bed.

#


	24. KISSES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets handsy

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR Kisses

Sherlock swept John up onto his feet for a hug. 

Sherlock Holmes was not a man known for tactile impulses and sympathy. Quite the opposite. But John's story had...impacted him. Oh, he'd heard stories like this before, every day some weeks, such was the nature of the business he was in, but this was John. 

Lovely John. 

A person who had stepped into his life with a soft suddenness that was not nearly as frightening as Sherlock had once believed to be so...

The detective was never much of a toucher, not due to a bad childhood or any sort of abuse, it was more an over-stimulation of data situation. Or sometimes, not knowing what the other person touching him wanted. That was sometimes impossible to deduce and confused and, yes, terrified him.

But John was so easy to read. It was all on his face. And he told Sherlock stuff verbally too. And so holding the ex-doctor to him was fine. The data was coming in- warm, smelled good, trembling with tears, clothes silky, hair clean, fingers digging into his shoulders- but it was easy data to categorise, coming unguarded as it did.

Sherlock relaxed and then he made a sound, a strange sort of moany thing, and stuck his nose under Johns hair to sniff at his neck. Patchouli and John. The perfect blend.

John shivered and closed his eyes. He would never had thought Sherlock would hold him like this, and it was nice. It was very nice. And yes, he needed human contact at this particular moment.

But then, the hug changed. For both of them. It was like a thrumming and suddenly Sherlock found his lips on Johns neck, kissing him.

John said "No, Sherlock, stop..." 

Sherlock didn't hear him. Kept pressing his lips to the silky skin of Johns neck.

"Sherlock..." 

The tone of Johns voice alerted Sherlock. He stepped back suddenly and John staggered. Sherlock grabbed the doctors upper arms to stop him falling and began tripping all over himself with apologies.

"Christ John, I am so very sorry!"

Johns face was still wet with tears but his pulse was racing.

"Don't..." He swallowed, tried again, blue eyes searching Sherlocks face. "Don't mistake me...I want to...I want YOU...but now is not the time for me. I would like it to be good. Believe me, now is..." He shook his head "Not right Sherlock..."

"John..." Sherlock said, and frowned. "I am not good with these things...I allowed my feelings to run away with me--"

John put his hand up.

"Stop. I like that your feelings got in the way." John had a small smile for Sherlock then. "That's really cool, and honest. Thank you." He smiled wider. "And you are a fantastic kisser, a gorgeous man, and..." He lowered his voice to cock tingling levels "I really want you."

"But later, when it's better." Sherlock said. John nodded and Sherlock had a mini battle in himself. John always told the truth, but people generally lied and Sherlock would have to dig down for the truth. So it was hard digging for the truth and finding it already on the surface.

"Please, yes, later. When it's better." John whispered. 

Sherlock nodded once and gently let Johns arms go. He wobbled but stayed on his feet.

"I am sorry for your loss John, believe me." He said then. "I am sorry you had to go through that."

John nodded.

"Thank you." He said.

"But one thing you didn't say, and I cannot deduce--" Sherlock admitted, then paused. He didn't feel the need to add that he had been distracted by Johns gorgeous skin. He mentally shook himself. "How is this pertinent to the case?"

John's jaw flexed.

"I believe our killer is Sebastian Moran."

#


	25. ON THE TRAIN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has some epiphanys on the train to Swinbourne Bay.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE On the Train

On the train to Swinbourne Bay next morning both John and Sherlock were quiet. John was staring out the window, hugging his knees up to his chin. It was a cold day so he had on a faux sheepskin lined coat of rough hewn cotton and he used this to snuggle in. He had enjoyed last night with Sherlock, of course he had, but he had made his apologies and retired to bed after another cup of camomile tea.

He knew what Sherlock kissing him had meant to him, to John. It was...wonderful. So wonderful. To know that Sherlock felt that way about him was fantastic, good for his ego and just gave him a lovely feeling. He was not in love with Sherlock, he suspected he would never fall in love again, he was too jaded against people in general, but he certainly loved spending his time with this amazing man.

Sherlock was quiet for a whole other reason. He had very much enjoyed allowing himself to snog John's neck. His flatmate was lusty and sweet, generous, and so very responsive. 

But now, in the cold hard light of day, Sherlock had a conundrum to ponder. He finally looked up to the man opposite him, ready to pepper him with questions, and found his breath suddenly stolen from him. 

John looked...nice. 

The early morning sun hit the smaller man's face making it an orangey-pink, his eyes reflecting the dawn, his hair glinting. He looked adorable, all curled up in his coat, lips slightly parted, and Sherlock could see the pulse in his neck thrumming gently under his soft throat skin, skin he had had his lips on not five hours before..

He shook himself. When had he decided to wax so lyrical? So he coughed. John turned his way and smiled a small smile that reached his eyes. Christ, did John ENJOY his company? Now that WAS breathtaking...

"John..." Sherlock finally said. There was a question he felt he should have asked last night but what with kissing and sleeping and the rush to leave so early this morning it had slipped his mind. Frustrating. Not like him at all. He was certain he should be crosser with himself than he actually was. He realised that he was...what...?

Oh dear Gods, could it be true..he was ZENNING his questions! He was allowing zen to get them asked when they NEEDED to be asked, not when HE needed them asked. He snorted and John smiled wider.

"You seem...different this morning." He commented.

"There's a difference in--" Sherlock paused, not sure WHAT was going on. That was a pondering for later..."--no matter, I wanted to ask you.."

"Who Sebastian Moran is?"

"Ah...." Sherlock smirked "You noted my oversight?"

"A bit. I guess you are probably cross with yourself, but I think it's fine. It's all fine."

"I AM surprised in myself. And confused that I am not DISSAPOINTED in myself."

John's grin was massive.

"You HIPPY!!!" He cackled and Sherlock matched his smile.

John's eyes danced but his smile changed when he began to speak.

"To answer your question, Sebastian was Henry's boyfriend." John said then, fluffing his hair up a bit. "I introduced them at the Commune one layover. Moran had been in the Fusiliers with me but had gone on to sniper work. I had no idea he had been dishonourably discharged until he turned up at the commune, ready to work on the Isaac Newton. We got misty-eye nostalgic and talked one night...he told me about it then."

"Did he tell you why he had been thrown out?"

"No. I didn't ask. One doesn't."

"Is that a code among Army?"

John nodded. 

"Henry liked him straight away. I warned him that Seb was...not stable, but it didn't seem to matter. Seb was a good worker, and fun with Henry, he enabled himself to play the part of concerned, hard working hippy really well, but sometimes...." John shrugged. "I suspect he was not in it to save the whales but rather to hide from the world."

"Was he on the ship the day you shot the Russian to save Henry?"

John shook his head, eyes zipping along the scenery outside.

"He sure let me know how he felt about it later." John said. "Henry had emailed him before he...hung himself. Explained that he felt hopeless, he could not save the whales and people were violent and stupid..." He turned to face Sherlock "He said that if even pacifist John Watson could kill in cold blood then he believed anyone could."

"Did Henry not know about your time in the army?"

"He knew I was a medic. That was enough for him."

Sherlock steepled his hands.

"That was very naïve of him."

"Partly, yes." John agreed. "But mostly he wanted to protect himself from the ghastly truth."

"The truth? What do you mean?"

John looked uncomfortable.

"The same truth that made me lose two jobs. The difference between the propaganda of life, and the FACTS of life. Especially on the Isaac Newton. The egos, the corruption, the greed and the self serving humans that...crushed Henry's spirit. I could handle it because I had already seen similar in the army. But Henry had never been exposed to humans at their base levels. He had been softly cocooned in his nice Dartmoor house, homeschooled, not entirely socialised. Real life crushed him, especially as he had such earnest ideals. I am convinced Henry could have stopped the whaling just with his words if he had ever got a chance to..."

"And Moran blames you personally?" Sherlock asked then.

"I have no idea, but he certainly focused a lot of his anger onto me. It was...." John shrugged. "I came home from that trip with Henry's body in the hold, and with Russian blood on my hands, only to face the wrath of Sebastian Moran. He nearly tore me apart with his bare hands. It took five men to stop him...."

"I'm so sorry John." Sherlock whispered, noticing that Johns fingers were subconsciously rubbing at a scar over his eye.

"I packed my duffel and went travelling after that. Partly to escape Sebastian of course, but mostly to try and dissolve the filth of that time from me. It's why I am so aware of the earth really. To pay Henry back and to regain my faith in humans." John said. Then he said, very quietly:

"And also...I was running away."

Sherlock was silent. His brain ticked over all John had said, storing what he needed for the case, saving questions for John for later, planning details and pathways and--

When he suddenly became aware of his surroundings, he realised he must have slipped into his Mind Palace. 

John's eyes were closed and he was sleeping. Sherlock hunted through his memories and could not recall John calling his name, as people were wont to do when Sherlock suddenly slipped into deep thought around them.

John had allowed him time in his palace without bothering him despite having told him that tale of woe. He had quietly drifted to sleep, giving Sherlock silence and peace despite probably needing reassurance or at least acknowledgement that Sherlock had understood him.

Sherlocks chest clenched. That was....one of the most respectful things anyone had everyone for him. How could John be that secure? Sherlock was amazed and, as he stared at John's lashes resting softly on his pink cheeks, the detective realised that John had become the single most important person in his life.

And Sherlock could not pinpoint when that had happened.

#


	26. COULD BE DANGEROUS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has disguises for them both.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX: Could be dangerous

Having no idea how long they were going to be, Sherlock had booked them a hotel room. It was small, generic, two single beds, kettle, TV and bathroom. 

John set about straight away letting light in, and air in, and making tea. Sherlock, meantime, was digging through his rather stuffed overnight bag.

"John, wear this." He said, and threw overalls at John. John caught the clothing against his chest, his hair floomphing up in the resulting whoosh of air.

"Ooh, disguise?" He asked, a tiny bit thrilled. Sherlock nodded, flapping out his own overalls.

"We can sneak in by actually walking in the front door." The detective said, placing the costume on the bed and removing his coat. "From there we can perhaps learn more about Fiver."

"Thanks for doing this Sherlock. I know you would rather be working on the murders."

Sherlock waved his hand.

"This is fascinating. At the very least we can find out who Fiver is, and maybe why he does the things he does."

"Or she." John said absently, pouring water on the tea. Let it not be said that John was sexist.

"Or she." Sherlock said, taking more clothes off.

"Would you like me to hum the stripper theme for you Sherlock?" John asked, sipping his tea and holding Sherlock's out for him. Sherlock looked up from where he was balanced on one leg, about to slide the overalls on. He still had his shirt and trousers on and looked confused.

"Uh..." He said.

"It's okay. Sherlock, I was taking the mick. Continue." 

Sherlock slid the overalls on and then took the tea. He nodded his thanks. John sipped his tea again, then put the cup down. Then, back to Sherlock, he began to sing the traditional strippers theme as he removed his fleecy jacket.

"Da da da daaaaaa, da da da daaaaa..." He slid the shoulders of the jacket off his own shoulders and shimmied. "Da da da daaaaaa....da da da daaaaaa..." The jacket slid down his arms. "Da da da daaaaaa...daDA...daDA..." He flicked the jackets sleeves off his arms and then twirled it over his head. " da da dad aaAAAA da da da da dad aaaa...." And he fling the jacket on his bed. 

Sherlocks eyes were huge. He looked quite taken aback. Then he put down his own tea and patted the overalls pockets.

"Dammit dammit...." He said. Then he looked up at John. "Got change for a twenty?"

And then both of the men cracked up laughing, pleased that they were in this cloak and dagger stuff together.

"This is going to be fun." John said then.

"Could be dangerous..." Sherlock warned.

There was a pause, and then John cracked a huge smile, his pretty eyes dancing.

"Oh Gods yes!" He said in absolute glee.

#

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I have no link for the stripper song but everyone knows how it goes, right?


	27. JUMP!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John shows how much he trusts Sherlock by throwing himself off a roof.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN Jump

The factory was small, in an industrial area that was filled with many other small industries. The sign proclaimed "Swinbourne Bay biodegradable Plastics" which was a very original name.

Sherlock had disguised himself further by using a dull and faded bandana to tie round his hair. John had donned a pair of black rimmed glasses and tied his hair back in a pony tail. 

(John had actually dug through Sherlocks "disguise kit" with almost child-like glee and Sherlock had actually quite enjoyed John's enjoyment. It was simple and it was honest.)

Fake-talking to themselves they managed to stroll right in with the small herd of morning workers. Once they were inside Sherlock took a quick look around and headed for the office. John followed. 

Sherlock tried the door but it was locked. 

"Be my lookout" he told John as he removed his precious lock pick kit and set to the door lock. In two seconds the door clicked and they both slipped inside.

"What are we looking for?" John asked.

"Any big orders of sheets of biodegradable plastic." Sherlock said, starting the computer. John jimmied the filing cabinet with a letter opener, much to Sherlocks astonishment, and began rifling through.

"Army teaches you lots of useful skills for civilian life" was all the hippy said, winking.

The computers password was astonishingly easy to crack, at least for a genius like Sherlock, and soon he was happily flipping through the files. John, too was having fun with the paper files, despite there being fewer of them. The factory was only a tiny bit behind the times.

John pulled out the plans from the factory and was just perusing them when Sherlock said quietly:

"There you are..."

"Something?"

"Orders for big reams of plastic...but...oh interesting...they were never delivered to their destination."

"Maybe Fiver stole them?"

"No...no..." Sherlock mused and then caught sight of the plans. He snatched them from John excitedly and ran his eyes over it. "Yes...interesting...that could work...John, we will have to come back tonight."

"Okay, sure, for what reason...?"

Suddenly they heard voices coming their way. John instantly packed the files away, grabbing the plans from Sherlock. Sherlock quickly shut down the computer and they both slid to the door. However, the way was blocked by someone chatting just outside. Sherlock looked around quickly, calculating...

"The window" he whispered, and they both ran to it. Sherlock slid it open and hopped over the sil, John following, closing the window behind them. They found themselves on a roof very high up. 

"Shit--" was Johns comment, but Sherlock was inching his way along the roof, close to the wall. John followed, back to the wall, carefully putting his feet where Sherlock's went. 

"We will have to jump." Sherlock said finally, as they had run out of roof.

"Jump? Are you mad?

"Quite possibly." Sherlock said. "There's hay. A soft enough landing--"

And then, Shelcok leaped from the roof, bandana flying off as he did so. 

"Oh you bastard--" John hissed, and, taking his life in his own hands, he dived after Shsrlock. The wind whistled past his ears, his glasses nearly flew off, and his heart leaped into his throat. He tucked and rolled by instinct, glasses falling off this time, and landed with an 'ouff!!' on the hay next to Sherlock who was...he was laughing! 

"You bloody ARE mad!" John said, but Sherlock's laughing was contagious. He found himself chuckling along.

"That was fun, wanna go again?" He finally asked Sherlock, once he got his breath back.

"Sure...." Sherlock said, then nodded with his head. "But next time, let's take the ladder."

Sure enough, just three feet from them, was a ladder that was leaning against the very roof they had, quite unnecessarily it seemed, jumped from. John stared at it, and then back at Sherlock, who was smirking.

"Oh you bastard!" John laughed "You fucking KNEW!"

"Maybe... " Sherlock shrugged, eyes twinkling. 

He was unsurprised when John threw a handful of straw in his face.

#

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am learning a lot aboot the difference between hay and straw in the comments after this chapter, which I am enjoying, but for visuals I want the boys to have landed in a cart of fluffy yellow plant-based stuff like Ezio in Assassins Creed. It's a thing. However, I DO like knowing the differences and am pleased that my lovely friend is learning me goodly :)


	28. FIVER FINALLY

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT Fiver Finally

Sherlock refused to tell John what they were going to do that night, or rather he was distracted and refused to let John in his mind palace. So they spent the day sight seeing and eating at cafès, which John enjoyed and Sherlock barely tolerated.

John also dragged Sherlock to a local hippy shop filled with organic food and ethnic bric a brac. He spent time talking with the proprietor while Sherlock browsed. He poked in baskets, swung dream catchers and tried on Tibetan beanies.

They had afternoon tea in the hotel dining room and then John took a nap while Sherlock tapped away on the lap top.

Finally, after dinner, Sherlock made them both dress in all black, including balaclavas, and then under stealth of dark, the two made their way back to the factory. Then, to Johns surprise, they skirted the whole building, passed by the roof they had leapt off and Mission-Impossibled to the old pig sty at the back of the factory.

"What the hell?" John whispered harshly, as Sherlock hopped over the sty like he had been born in Yorkshire. Nevertheless, he still followed his mad friend deep into the dark of the concrete walled building.

There was a scrabbling sound and then John saw Sherlock lift a trapdoor from the floor.

"The plans John. Showed a room here."

"So THIS is where the plastic was delivered?" 

"Yes." Sherlock said.

"So this is Fivers lair!" John whispered excitedly, and then did a quiet evil laugh. He didn't have to see Sherlocks face to know it was pulling a condescending look.

Together they climbed down the metal stairs and carefully rounded the basement wall. Lights were on but nobody was home.

There was a long table and upon it was a length of plastic in Fluro green. Along it were black letters making half a sentence. There were eyelets of a generous size on one end, and rope coiled under the table.

"I think we may have found Fivers workshop." John whispered, loving that it was so obvious a statement it made the Detective stiffen in indigence.

"John, you are quite simple sometimes."

"You love me..."

They stepped into the workshop and split up, Sherlock studying the sigh itself and John looking along the wall for any clues.

"Interesting. Non chemical glue..."

"No made of horse is it?" John asked, only half joking. 

"No, but it is in aerosol form."

"Bad for the ozone--"

Then suddenly, someone was on the stairs.

"Captain John fucking Watson, still the good little environmentalist."

At these words John crouched, hand going to the gun he did not have. Sherlock, too, tensed, as the newcomer strolled happily down the stairs and into the light.

"Nice disguises." The man went on. He was tall, blonde, in khaki trousers and a black top with shoulder squares in Leather that screamed SAS. His upper body was broad and muscular and he had a small scar down the side of his face. When he finally reached the bottom step and began to cross the room John stepped in front of Sherlock and dragged his balaclava off.

"Sherlock, stay behind me." He said. Gone was his soft and kind voice, replaced with a harsh, deep voice that brooked no argument. Sherlock slid his own balaclava off his curls, and stared over Johns shoulder.

"Introduce me to your special friend." The blonde said to John. "No need really, I know it's Sherlock Holmes the Detective. I have been watching you John, keeping a good close eye on you."

"Back off Moran." John hissed and Sherlock came to the realisation that the hulk of a man before them was Colonel Sebastian Moran, Henry's ex-boyfriend and Johns ex-army buddy.

"But John, you came all this way to see me!" Moran grinned.

"YOU'RE Fiver?" John snapped, incredulously.

"Guilty."

"But..."

"Oh I know, it's all so confusing." Moran said then, patronisingly. Then suddenly, in a blink of an eye, he grabbed John's forearm, spun him round, rammed the smaller blondes arm up behind him and wrapped his other arm around Johns throat. John froze, fingers on Moran's arm and eyes wide. 

"Sloppy, Captain." Seb said then into Johns ear. Then he looked up at Sherlock. "Perhaps your friend can let you in on the secret? Go ahead Holmes, deduce me."

Sherlock stood stock still, eyes roaming over Sebastian from his head to his toes. He didn't want to make Sebastian hurt John in any way and so did as he asked.

"You are the protestor known as Fiver. Simple really. It would take a strong man to climb to the top of tall towers and coal ships and what have you, carrying those signs." Sherlock said. "As to why, you are making it up to Henry, trying to carry on his work, but you don't quite get it do you?"

Seb crushed johns throat a bit more and John made a harsh sound. Sherlocks eyes slitted.

"Henry truly wanted change, and you...you just want to stir things up." 

"Shut your head you fucker." Sebastian said, voice tight but robotic. He clamped Johns throat harder still, and Johns eyes rolled. He clawed at Sebs arm but the ex soldier paid no heed.

"I suppose you are going to kill us both, or something dull like that." Sherlock said next. 

"Both? No." Seb said. "You are, in fact, free to go Holmes. You may scurry up those stairs and call your bum chum Lestrade or that annoyingly pompous brother of yours. What you may NOT do is leave here with your sidekick. HIM I will kill."

And then Seb squeesed Johns throat so hard that he stopped breathing, his eyes fluttered closed, and he instantly blacked out.

#


	29. FIVER POINT FOUR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What does the other half of the sign say?

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE Fiver point four

The sign on the table read:

"TIME TO PAY--"

It was unfinished but Fiver already knew where he would like to put it.

#

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't get cross my darling readers, here's fun: do some suggestions for the other half of the flag, Fiver style. 
> 
> This competition will never end, no matter what new people read this, even years from now, but those who do an awesome original saying will get cake.
> 
> Caaaaaaaaaaake....


	30. MORAN HAS ISSUES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seb is at the end of his rope, and is a very dangerous man because of it.

CHAPTER THIRTY Moran has issues

When Sherlock saw Johns body go limp he had a very large flare of panic that he damped down with sheer strength of will. Seb did not let John fall though, merely kept the pressure on his throat. Sherlock realised no blood was getting to John's brain and this would quickly become an issue.

His own massive brain, however, dodged the gibbering mess of terror in his mind, circled round it, and found a way to at least get John released.

The Detective reached behind him, grabbed the first thing that met his hand, which was the aerosol can of glue, and tossed it at Seb's head. Seb dropped John to deflect said can, which hit is forearm and then clattered into the dark corner. John crumpled onto his back, loose as a marionette, and lay still. Breathing.

"Clever, Mister Holmes." Seb said, and smiled nastily.

Sherlock shrugged.

"Yes, I am."

"And yet you choose to stay here? To die with Watson?" Seb snorted, and laid a boot into John's side. John was still passed out so did not feel it, but Sherlock sure did. Still, nothing of the anger he felt towards Moran reached his eyes.

"I don't believe John or I are destined to die tonight." Sherlock said. "I would not like to bet on YOUR chances however."

Sebastian smiled. He realised, of course, that he could not reach down and drag Watson back up now without Sherlock reacting in a way that would end in at least some pain for Seb, and he was man enough to admit he had underestimated the skinny deceptively frail looking detective. So, on to plan B then...

From the back waistband he drew out a gun, held it in two hands and pointed it at Johns head, never taking his eyes from Sherlock.

"What are the odds NOW, Holmes?" Moran asked, and Sherlock merely cocked an eyebrow. He was so damn cool, and that was frankly pissing Sebastian off. He had the man's best friend at point blank range for fucks sake!

"I do not believe that all this--" Sherlock waved in the direction of the half made flag. "Was to get back at John. It shows too much forethought, too much effort, when you could have ambushed him with your SAS abilities and killed him without John ever knowing."

"John is still going to die, that will not change. But yes, he is not my main focus." Seb said still stock still with perfect aim at John's face.

"You care for the ENVIRONMENT, of COURSE." Sherlock said, but it was sarcastic.

"I hate whales. I hate trees. I cannot stand endangered tigers and care not for the death of millions of bees. But I cared for Henry. He...completed me. Made me feel human again, after all I had done. I am sure you understand that feeling, at least recently." Seb said, cocking his head quickly down to John and back up. He was right and Sherlock was surprised at this man's insight.

"John did not kill Henry." Sherlock said simply.

"He may as well have." 

"You are being ridiculously short sighted and stupidly vengeful." Sherlock said. "I fail to see what this is for." Seb shrugged, but Sherlock had not finished. "You kill John and then what?"

"I had a such a brief time being normal Holmes. Before, I was a sniper, a killer, an army man, before that, an abused teen and scared child. I had never had what Henry gave me and I won't have it again. So yes, I am removing John from the equation but after him I have Reese and then Greenpeace to take down. And then, I am finished."

"You have it all planned out then."

"Well, I had no idea Watson had a guard dog, but yes. It is all planned out."

Sherlock nodded slowly. He realised that Sebastian needed to be stopped, and stopped here, or Greenpeace could be in a great deal of trouble, and, while Sherlock did not care for Reese, but there were innocent people around him, trying to do good in the world, that could needlessly suffer if Moran was allowed to keep going.

So Sherlock, using physics, made a move as if he was reaching under his coat for a weapon. As he hoped, this caused Sebastian to draw a bead on HIM, leaving John out of the firing line. 

Sherlock moved super fast then, hitting Sebastian's arms up with both his fists and spinning into the man's compact body. The gun fired but the bullet hit nothing living. Sebastian found his fingers suddenly numb and unable to hold the weapon any more, and it dropped to the floor of the workshop. Sherlock then let the mans arms go, spun Sebastian away, and leapt for his back. 

Sebastian was a trained killer. He knew a trick or two. He rammed his numb elbow back into Sherlocks temple, HARD, and Sherlock grunted in pain, dropping to the floor behind the soldier. Sebastian leaped to the side and then swung both his fists at Sherlocks head like Thor's hammer. 

Sherlock barely had time to duck, and as it was, Seb's fists landed on his back, making Sherlock hiss and dance to the side. He stooped then and took up the gun from the floor, but by the time he had it aimed, Sebastian was running up the stairs. 

Sherlock aimed, shot, and was sure he heard a scream of agony. Chasing the soldier up the stairs he noted the blood on the floor and then heard the trapdoor slam close.

And then the unmistakable sound of something heavy being pushed over on it. Sherlock pocketed the gun and pushed on the trapdoor, but, try as he might, it would not open.

And then, all the lights went out.

#


	31. BURN BABY BURN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disco inferno.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE Burn baby burn

The darkness froze before Sherlocks eyes. He cursed and then patted his trouser pockets until he found the small LED torch he had packed. Switching it on he flicked the light across the trapdoor but he was merely told what he already knew. There was no exit there.

Turning and descending the stairs he fell to his knees beside John, who had still not moved.

"John, John open your eyes. We have to get up. We have to go."

John did not move, did not open his eyes.

Sherlock checked Johns pulse. It was weak but steady. 

"Come on John, we really have to go. Your friends are in danger and--"

Johns eyes rolled and the lids slitted open. Then a small smile reached his lips.

"Hello gorgeous." He whispered, voice husky with damage. He lifted up a shaky hand and sunk his fingers in the lush inky curls at the back of Sherlocks head. He used this to pull Sherlock down onto his mouth and kiss him, deeply.

Sherlock was PRETTY sure this was not the time to kiss but he was not REALLY sure, people did things that seemed illogical all the time, so he responded to Johns kiss with tongue and lips and sighs. Johns mouth was hot and languid in his delirium and so very sweet.

And then, Sherlock smelled something. Something rank and scary..

He pulled off Johns mouth, and shone the torch around, finally scanning the floor above them. He saw thick tendrils of grey smoke snaking across the ceiling and suddenly realised what he was smelling.

Smoke.

He lurched to his feet...

And where there was smoke there was always fire! That would explain the flickering he saw between the floorboard above them. By his quick visual calculations the fire had spread to the whole sty and was well on its way to destroying all Fivers evidence...which included John and him.

"John, we have to go, we have to get out of here, can you walk?" Sherlock hissed, not looking down at John but at the rapidly spreading smoke. John made a strange sound that sounded like fear but Sherlock shushed him.

"I think there is another exit, I saw it on the plans..."

John whimpered and there was a scrabbling sound but Sherlock by now had stood and was flashing his torch into the corners. 

"Think think...." He spat to himself and suddenly, he was in his Mind Palace.

He was walking, slowly, through the underground lair in the sty. The walls were clear, and everything was where it should be, but as if it were made of clear plastic rather than its actual substance. He orientated himself using Johns strange clear Mind Palace body and wandered, scanning. Then..yes, there, there was a small hallway behind the drums of mentholated spirits...the highly FLAMMABLE mentholated spirits!

"John....John..." His Mind Palace voice was ethereal and he turned back to see through John on the ground.

John was not standing. He was still laying down, which confused and annoyed the detective.

"Get up John, we have to go...."

Then he noticed that John was indeed moving but in a jerky, spasmodic way.

"Oh!" Sherlock gasped, and shook himself from his magical palace. He ran the torch up John's body, jerking at his feet, to see his friends ice blue eyes wide open, staring at nothing, a thick trail of blood leaking from one corner his mouth.

"John?" Sherlock choked, crashing at Johns head again, patting his friends face with desperate hands. John could not hear him, his eyes were far away and his body was still jerking. He was convulsing and seizing from the lack of oxygen and blood that Seb's head lock had inflicted on him. With every jerk his throat choked and the sound was awful.

"Christ John!" Sherlock swore gently and then breathed a sigh of relief when John stopped convulsing and lay still, eyes rolling half closed and body stilling straight away. Sherlock put the torch into his lips, scooped John's body to his chest, and stood with a grunt, staggering towards the metho drums and certain escape..

Then, with a sudden snap and groan, the floor above them collapsed onto the work table and the resulting blast of heated air blew both Sherlock and John into the wall with a sickening crunch.

#


End file.
